Young Rose Of Duhallow

Young Rose of Duhallow with wavy brown hair
For physical beauty few with her compare
Her eyes as dark blue as the November sloe
On the wildering hedge where the Blackwater flow.

Young Rose of Duhallow is only eighteen
And her better days in life she has not seen
But in old Duhallow perhaps she won't stay
She daydreams of places from home far away.

She daydreams of adventure in her young life
And to a young man of Duhallow she may not be a wife
The lust of the wander in her young heart beat
For places far distant from Rathcoole and Millstreet.

Of distant and big foreign Cities she daydream
And her future is elsewhere or so it does seem
She may be living far from Duhallow by next Spring
When the pink breasted bullfinch on the hedgerow will sing.

Where the robin he sings on the silver birch tree
And old river Blackwater babbles towards the sea
Young Rose of Duhallow is daydreaming today
Of places beyond the sea and from home far away.